Met him on the way to tomorrow,
pitched a tent on his front lawn,
both ignoring impermanence.
How is it the heart’s drumming
blots out the soundness of mind,
negates former promises to self?
The weather changed and with it
sentiments cooled, tempers heated,
a tempest ensued, she packed up
hitched a ride on a passing train
headed in the wrong direction,
her heart still a discordant drum.
One Woman's Quest 